


Blue Origin

by MantisandtheMoonDragon



Series: Little Star Son [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt Peter Quill, Hypothermia, Kid Peter Quill, Little Star Son Compliant, Near Death, Parental Fear, Probably ooc, Tags Contain Spoilers, indulgent fluff, sanity slippage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-16 18:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11258256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MantisandtheMoonDragon/pseuds/MantisandtheMoonDragon
Summary: Yondu does whatever it takes to keep Peter Quill safe during a surprise raid on the Eclector, but the danger ahead is far worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> That summary is so dramatic, it makes me wanna shake my head at myself in disgust. 
> 
> Anyway, yes, this is in canon with the Little Star Son story which is also on AO3 if you want to check it out. That story may clear up a few liberties taken here, so you may want to read that first. 
> 
> Please enjoy.

Not even one standard year had gone by since Peter Quill had been beamed aboard the Eclector before they were commandeered by squadrons of thugs.

                 They came in surprising numbers, prompting Yondu to consider whether the Nova Corps were doing one of those honeypot operations on illegal Ravager activity. It was the kind of down-and-dirty idea Nova Prime had concocted not long after she was sworn in – an attempt from law enforcement to narrow the number of professional criminals in the free network of space while also “rehabilitating” crooks and offenders that had previously been caught.

                  There wasn’t much time to waste thinking it over, not as Yondu sprinted through corridors and through hauls filled with low-hanging pipes to get to the hangar bay. He’d sent the Terran brat to help with unpacking loot that a group of loner Ravager trainees had come back with. It had been a prime opportunity to get some peace after Peter had, as usual, attached himself to Yondu at the hip for most of the day, as well as a way for Yondu to let him pick out something shiny that would fit on Yondu’s control console. The captain’s collection of trinkets had not grown in months, and odds were that Peter was growing bored of having the same little toys to play with.

                                   But of course, the minute Yondu got some time away from Peter was the minute when everything went to shit.

“Where are ya’, kid?” Yondu shouted once he stepped foot inside the hangar. Chaos forged on around him, making it difficult to get a good read on what was what and who was where. Yondu dodged both fists and lasers as his men struck out wildly against their unexpected enemies, glancing beneath ships and around crates to see if Peter was hidden somewhere. The boy was young, but he was quick and he was adaptable. He also had plenty of hiding places if a fight broke out or one of the crew came after him for any fool thing.

Then he heard it. Above the din and fray there was a tinny voice calling out to him from below. Yondu looked at the floor before him, red eyes flicking between dead bodies before he saw the hint of a slanted grate and small, pale fingers sticking out from beneath.

“Dad!”

Hearts beating furiously in his chest, Yondu rushed to shove a corpse that had fallen directly on top of Peter’s sanctuary out of the way. He caught a glimpse of the boy’s bloodless and terrified face before he began to lift the heavy grate. It moved at an agonizingly slow pace, but once Yondu had managed to budge it enough for Peter to climb out, he hefted the Terran up into his arms and carried him out of the hangar, whistling as he did so.

“What’s happening?” Peter whimpered.

His nails dug into Yondu’s shoulders beneath his coat, but Yondu remained silent, ignoring Peter in favor of making it to the bridge with as little distraction as possible.

The Centaurian marched through the same halls and corridors that he’d just come through without being touched. He spared no attention toward the men that fell around him, whether they were part of the nameless, classless lineup of thugs that had boarded his ship or his own men in Ravager reds. There just wasn’t enough time to even consider them.

“Fuck!” Yondu shouted.

He stopped mid-stride and turned on his heel to shield Peter from a sudden blast of high-powered electricity. The circuits that manipulated their nearest exit had been tapped, by what Yondu had no clue as those that had been in the hall when they’d arrived were all dead on the ground around them. Maybe a detonator. These sons of bitches looked about as smart as a flock of ten-toed raptors, maybe they’d rampaged through the Eclector to commit mass suicide and were planning to blow up the entire ship and everyone inside of it.

Electricity and steam surged from the entryway, knocking them both of their feet and onto the metal surface below.

The Ravager captain shoved Peter and himself behind a large covered engine hub and waited for the worst of the blast to subside. In the time it took for the charge of voltage to mellow into static, Yondu gathered that this path to the bridge was useless now. There was no telling if the magnetized entryway here, now a charred black and crumbling metal and pulsating red wires, would electrocute them both as soon as they attempted to go through it.

Yondu considered his options in a flash. There were others way to get to the bridge, but this was the most efficient and the one less likely to end in the pair being confronted by thugs.

                 Yondu cursed. Following through with his initial plan was off the table, but they needed an alternative solution now. Thinking hard and fast, Yondu let go of Peter to reach for the child’s Walkman.

                 “We’re gonna go below deck, alrigh’?” Yondu began to untangle the cord that attached Peter’s headphones to his musical contraption. He fit those headphones over the boy’s head and onto his ears before pulling him closer and resting his forehead against the boy's so that he had Peter’s full attention.

                 “You ‘n I are gonna go below so I can show ya the escape pods. We’ll stay there till everything quiets down cause it’s safe.” He said. “Alrigh’?”  

                 Peter’s eyes began to water and his lip started to tremble.

“Alrigh’, son?” Yondu asked again. He shook Peter in his hands, not too roughly but enough to reclaim the terrified kid’s attention.  

                 Peter nodded. “Alright.”

Yondu nodded his approval, then stood up again. He took Peter with him, securing him on his hip again. “Don’t look up til I tell ya to, neither. Got it?”

Hot tears coursed down Peter’s cheeks, even as he buried his snot-nosed face against Yondu’s shoulder and closed his eyes tightly for extra measure. He tried to pay attention to the music as they jogged back the way they’d just come from, squeezing Yondu’s shoulders every so often just to be sure that he was still in his father’s arms and hadn’t been snatched up unawares. Peter could feel the scabbed over scars near the base of Yondu’s neck, from where the muscle that had once belonged to his dad’s original fin was before it’d been stripped from his body.

He continued to cling, gasping when his father pulled him away from the safety of his arms and set him down. They’d made it to the niches below, where the Eclector kept storage as well as a roster of round, claustrophobic-looking hulls in case of emergency. They’d been unused for longer than a decade preceding Peter’s own existence, but Yondu wiped away the dust that had accumulated on the control panel of one pod and opened it up with the push of a button. The rhombus-shaped door slid up with a snapping hiss and Yondu wasted no time in shuffling Peter inside of it.

Ducking in, Yondu closed the hatch door behind him and gestured for Peter to sit in one of the only two seats and told him to buckle up. Without waiting to make sure Peter did so correctly, the man climbed into the pilot’s seat

Yondu set coordinates for the nearest moon, groaning as he realized that it was unlisted in their index – because **of course** it was.

                 “Hold on!” He finally called over the screeching of metal and the truly nauseating sensation of a sudden drop when the escape pod detached itself from the Ravager main ship.

 

* * *

 

                 “Peter?” Yondu fought to stand. His knees were shot and he’d been burned from their sporadic crash landing in a few dozen places, but he resisted the urge to just lay down and die. The man tore at the seat restraints that practically branded him and whipped around in circles in search of Peter.

                                   “Here!” The boy, not quite as shell-shocked (or dead) as Yondu predicted, waved both of his arms to catch his father’s attention. “I’m okay!”

                 He smiled up at Yondu as though they hadn’t just survived up to three near-death experiences in the past 24 hours. Nevertheless, Yondu exhaled a breath of relief as he made his way over to give Peter a once over and was reassured that the kid wasn’t maimed or mortally wounded. That was until his lungs replenished with frigid cold air while he undid Peter’s straps.

                 “Shit, it’s cold.” Yondu groaned while he fumbled with Peter’s belt buckle. Peter leaned to one side to look past Yondu and gasped.

“It's Hoth!” Peter exclaimed. He clung to Yondu’s hand and let himself be lifted up and onto his feet.

“Ya know the name of this moon?” Yondu asked dubiously. He turned around to see the permanent winter surrounding them on all sides and didn’t bother to hide his disgust. There was no distinction between the snow-packed ground beneath them and the blindingly silver sky above them.

                 “No!” Peter’s eyes remained bright. “It looks like Hoth, from The Empire Strikes Back! I told ya that was the place where Luke and the rebel base was ba’fore Darth Vader came lookin’ for ‘em!”

They began to hike through the snow, Yondu keeping a tight grip on Peter’s hands while he maneauvered them both around the more precarious and large sheets of destroyed escape pod. The damn thing had been absolutely trashed upon entry into this orb’s atmosphere, but at least it had saved their skins.

He grunted, “Oh, yeh, I remember dat. Tha’ was the one wit’ the princess and the walking carpet, righ’?”

“Princess Leia and Chewbacca, Dad.” Peter sniffed indignantly. “They’re in all of the movies!”

“Righ’, righ’. Chewbacon. I’s remember, jus’ forgot wha’ happens when dat lord whatshisname gets there. He kill ‘em?”

Yondu couldn’t help but smile as his boy laughed at the purposeful misnomer, then went into babbling excitedly about the finer points of Star Wars. He held fast to Peter even after they’d stepped around all the metal, eventually motioning for him to walk while tucked in Yondu’s coat. 

The tundra stretched as far as the eye could see, and there was no sign of civilization in the blur of snow and sky. At least Yondu had managed to get them both out of the crash site in one piece. He began to trudge away from it, knowing that while it would’ve been good to stay with the pod so the crew could find them faster, he wasn’t going to risk Peter freezing over before they were located.

                 They needed to find shelter, quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

  They’d found a rock formation to wait in; a towering, triclinic crystal structure that pierced the sky as it rose in uneven plains. Inside, the walls were transparent as though made of pure glass, but thick enough to keep out the worst of the raging wind outside and allow for a provisional fire to burn within.  

Yondu had an inordinate number of pockets within his long coat, one of which had had a flair gun inside.  One flair had been shot just outside of the crystal cave, and another had been stripped of its bulk to act as debris on which the canon laser could light. It had taken some fumbling and more than a few tries, but there was no way they could survive for very long without a fire, that much Yondu was sure of.

 

The man kept trying until, praise the stars, it worked just when the Centaurian was at the end of his rope. Yondu and Peter had then huddled as close to the fire as was safe – which apparently been something that needed to be stated verbally, after Yondu had to keep the dumb kid from burning his eyebrows off by being too close.

                  Thankfully, however, keeping an eye on Peter wasn’t as much of an issue as previously thought. It might’ve been the near-death experience(s), but the boy wasn’t as hyperactive as usual and kept close like he was supposed to while the light of the fire bounced on the reflective walls around them and brightened up their makeshift hovel quite spectacularly.

 

“What’chu lookin’ at, Pete?” Yondu asked eventually, once he’d gotten the fire to manageable size.

                 

                  “Is this place made a’ glass?” Peter asked. He surveyed the walls around them while sat with his knees to his slight chest, curled up near the fire across from Yondu and looking too small for a boy his age. Then again, Yondu always thought the Terran looked too small.

 

“I don’ know fer sure, but I reckon it’s a crystal palace we’s in.” Yondu stated. He idly searched through his internal pockets, trying to find something else that might be useful while they sat there. There wasn’t much that wouldn’t count as more than junk in this situation; not even a morsel of food in case they were stuck for more than a day.

                   Peter continued speaking while his father rummaged around.  “They’re pretty. Are crystals rare?”

 

Yondu shook his head, still searching to no avail. “Mos’ planets got crystals of their own they can mine and turn into fuel or jewelry and all that. Some idiots can’t even tell a blood jewel from no piece a’ plain crystal.”

 

                  “Oh.” The boy said. Out of the corner of his eye (he’d essentially given up his search, and was pondering over whether he should ask if Peter would be okay with them burning his little troll doll that Yondu had somehow been carrying in one of his pockets to keep the fire going), Yondu saw the kid’s shoulders slump like he’d just got the worst news of his life.

“Wha’s the matter?” Yondu asked.

 

“Nothin’.” Peter murmured, sulking. “I was jus’ thinkin’ tha’ when Kraglin and the rest came to get us, we could chip off some a’ the crystals and sell ‘em ourselves.”

                  Yondu looked at Peter in sheer surprise, before he burst out laughing. The sound, even slightly hoarse from the cold air scratching against his throat, made Peter look up and smile unwittingly.

                                    “What? What’s so funny?”

“You.” Yondu chuckled. “Thinkin’ ‘bout takin’ on a job while we’re freezing our asses off. You’re too much, kid!”

                  He couldn’t help but lean over to gently cuffed the boy on the ear, earning an even wider, even more brilliant smile from Peter.

                                    “Course! I’m a ravager! Ravagers are s’posed ta be on the lookout fer a job always, like you said Dad.”

“Mm-hm.” Yondu agreed, smiling indulgently. “You sure got Ravager in yer blood, son.”

                  Peter grin turned bashful at the not-quite-praise, and he wasn’t the least bit upset that his idea to hawk crystal formations for units was invalid. Yondu’s words left the kid content, and that was enough to have him fall back into silence.

 

The quiet didn’t last long however, not as his mind worked and his bright grin lapsed into a frown. “They are comin’ to get us, right?”

 

                  He looked up from the snow and the flecks of glittering crystal sticking out around them, and stared at Yondu with wide, solemn eyes. “They’re okay, right Dad? Kraglin an’ Tullk an’ Narblik an’ all of ‘em… even Horuz… they’re all alright. Aren’t they?”

 

                  Yondu sighed. “They’re fine. May be a sorry bunch most o’ the time, but the boys know how ta take care of themselves durin’ a raid. No sense worryin’ bout ‘em anyway, kid.”

 

                  Peter nodded hastily at that, though he still had the little dent in his forehead that formed when he was particularly worried. He braced his arms around his knees a little tighter, still wondering to himself. He hadn’t seen Kraglin during the battle that had taken place on the Eclector, not since the man had helped him get into the vent that had been built into the hangar bay’s floor and told Peter to stay in there until either he or the captain came to get him. Peter couldn’t help but be afraid that the older boy, who was always fun to tease and trick, and yet was open to playing Peter’s silly Terran games like hopscotch and freeze tag, may not have survived in all the chaos that had ensued.

                  The thought made Peter’s eyes water. He suddenly wished he’d apologized to Kraglin for making him chase after Peter all the time, and for scaring the daylights out of him just for Peter’s amusement. It’d been real mean of him, and now that he thought back on it, the boy was awfully sorry he’d been such a pain to the one friend he had out in space that tolerated him that much.

                                    Peter lifted a hand and brushed the slow rolling tears away from his eyes hastily. He shouldn’t cry over it, he knew. It was better to have faith in Kraglin surviving – that’s what Mom would say, if she were there. And Dad didn’t seem too afraid either.

Peter kept staring hard at the ground until his tears had subsided. He’d probably get an earful if Yondu saw him crying for no reason; big boys weren’t supposed to cry. And Peter knew a grown Ravager worth his salt wasn’t supposed to act like a big baby when times were tough. He may not have been grown yet, but Peter wasn’t an itty-bitty baby either.

                                    The Terran wiped at the last of his tears rather violently, blurring his own vision for a moment. He huffed impatiently, only to gasp once his eyesight returned and he got a good look at hand. “Dad!”

 

“I… I’m turnin’ blue!” He lifted his arm in the air, raising it enough for it to catch in the light and for Yondu to see. “Dad! Look! I’m blue!”

                  Yondu’s brow furrowed. He shifted to get a closer at the kid over the flames. It was true. Peter’s skin was tinted a light blue from his fingertips down to his knuckles, while the fingers themselves looked frozen stiff as Peter held them up.

The captain felt his stomach bottom out the moment he caught sight of it. Dread filled his being, making it difficult to think for far longer than he would’ve liked. He may not have known much about Terran physiology, but you’d have to be daft to believe that a child born with a naturally fair skin tone could change color without it being a sign of something wrong. 

 

Had the situation been less dire, Yondu might’ve considered that Peter _was_ his son by blood.

 

                  Instead, Yondu immediately grabbed for Peter as he was distracted and took the child’s hands in his own. It had to be the freezing temperature of this moon. The man brought Peter’s hands closer to inspect them, and realized that the blue went far past the knuckles and below the sleeve of his coat.

The boy, whom had been smiling goofily despite the bitter chill around them, looked away from his hands and blinked at Yondu’s agitated movements.

“Didn’t’cha see it Dad? I’m blue!” Peter tried to raise his arms in a cheer, but Yondu kept a grip on him.

                  “I see it, boy-o.” Yondu kept his tone calm and his voice steady.

“I’m gonna look more like you now! Gonna look more like yer boy.” Peter said. He gave Yondu that look that the captain knew very well by now. Peter wanted Yondu’s validation and to know that his father was proud of him.

 

                  “Come over here an’ sit next ta me.” Yondu harrumphed. He engulfed Peter’s hands in his own, rubbing the small fingers to incite blood circulation. “Yer my boy whether you look like me or not. How many times I gotta say it?”

Peter shrugged as he moved closer and stepped into Yondu’s arms without complaint. He went as far as sitting in Yondu’s lap. “I know. Nothin’ wrong with it though.”

Yondu didn’t protest that. He needed to remain in control for Peter’s sake, and to a lesser extent his own. Damn the sorry bunch of assholes he called a crew, why couldn’t they get a signal on Yondu and Peter sooner?

                  “Ain’t gonna never have a fin though, I bet.” Peter managed to pout despite his now chattering teeth. The little boy was now not only starting to show signs that he was too cold, but realizing it too. He rested his cheek against Yondu’s shoulder and, while Yondu wasn’t much for snuggling, he wrapped Peter in his arms.

                                    “Never say never, Pete.”

 

                  After a while of compressing Peter’s hands in his own and keeping him huddled between Yondu and the fire, Peter was shifted for a moment as Yondu undid his own coat and wrapped it around his son’s shoulders. The kid, previously content to stare at his blue hands that barely contrasted Yondu’s blue skin, and perfectly oblivious as to whether that was even a problem, turned to Yondu in alarm.

                  “What’re ya doin?” Peter exclaimed, already trying to shrug off the oversized garb and return it. “Dad, yer gonna get cold! Take it back!”

                  “Stop that.” Yondu barked while he began zipping the coat all the way from where it dragged on the snow packed floor up to Peter’s chin. “I don’ need it as much as a scrawny lil’ rat like you.”

“I ain’t scrawny! And I don’t need yer coat! I got my own!” Peter said angrily, lashing out at Yondu and nearly clocking him in the nose. “You need one ‘fore you catch yer death!”

                                    “Keep it on, Peter.” Yondu pushed the child’s fist away and continued to try zipping the coat up. He pushed at Peter’s arms to stuff him further into the coat which dwarfed Peter due to how massive it was compared to his small frame.  Peter struggled against him the entire time.

                  “You ain’t gonna argue wit’ me ‘bout this, Peter Quill.” Yondu snapped angrily. “I said keep the damn coat on. Now you gonna listen or you gonna get it. Ya hear?”

                  Peter opened his mouth to continue protesting, while still trying to get free from the prison he’d been clad in. He’d always been a stubborn child, but the conditions they were in were clearly affecting him too much to indulge his ridiculous temper tantrums.

Yondu looked him directly in the eye.

                                                      “Peter.” He said warningly.

Yondu, faintly pursed his lips just as he did when he was about to whistle, and like clockwork, the Terran boy shut his mouth up. He lowered his chin to his chest so that his face was half-hidden beneath Yondu’s collar and glared at his father for, of all things, sacrificing his jacket for Peter’s sake, and it didn’t bypass Yondu how fucked up that was. He was certain that if he really did threaten Peter with the arrow, the kid would still be insisting that his father keep the coat.

                  It made Yondu wonder, not for the first time, if he was being too soft and too lenient in parenting the boy. If he were Peter, he’d have gladly taken all the warmth he could get when stranded in the cold, and wouldn’t have spared a thought to the wellbeing of anyone else, including his father (if Yondu had ever had one to begin with). The captain knew that it would never sit right to have Peter, as stubbornly compassionate as his mother had been, putting everyone else before himself.  

 

* * *

 

        Yondu tried to remain calm and collected, but his frustration over their situation grew as more time passed. It was getting ridiculous, how long he and Peter had to stick it out while the crew was Nova knows where.  

Peter’s skin hadn’t been its normal pinkish tone since before the child had discovered that he was changing color. The blue creeping along Peter’s body was only darkening as it spread like a rash. The novelty of being as blue as his father had worn off for Peter not long after the wind outside of their ersatz refuge had picked up and began whipping through the entrance of the cave. His small, white teeth chattered forcefully and Peter had taken to rolling the sleeves of Yondu’s coat over his frail arms so that his hands could fit into the pockets along Yondu’s inner tunic. He his face in the crook of Yondu’s arm as well, to keep the wind from slashing at his sensitive lips and eyes like pins and needles.

The effects of the cold were doubtlessly murder on Peter’s senses. Terrans were fragile, that much Yondu did know. Yet even he, a Centaurian with a much better tolerance to cold, was starting to shiver from the cold. The most he himself could do was endure it and keep his boy bundled up close until whenever the sun came up for this moon.

 

                  Although that was much easier said than done, as Peter had decided to wriggle about once again.

He had no means of knowing how long it’d been since he’d given Peter his coat, but Yondu was it hadn’t been more than an hour at most before Peter began to struggle to get out of it once more. He growled. Did the kid have a death wish or what?

                                    “What did I say, ya brat?” Yondu began, before flinching back with a short yell as Peter started to spasm in his grip. The Terran began tearing at Yondu’s coat just as his father was about to scold him for the hundredth time to keep it on. He’d suddenly become relentless in the blink of an eye, abruptly stressed and trying to get out of Yondu’s grip as well as out of his clothes.

                  “I don’… want my coat… nn… nno… morrre…” Peter’s teeth clicked violently in his skull. He suddenly looked completely out of it in his struggle, looked like a trapped animal in a cage. The boy wasn’t focusing on anything so much as he was mindless yanking and pulling while he stumbled out of Yondu’s lap. Before Yondu could fully process what the hell was going on, Peter had gotten far enough way to undo his zipper and fling the coat off his shoulders. The light from the still-going fire illuminated Peter just outside of Yondu’s shadow that stretched along the ground, and it only took a second for the Centaurian to see that Peter’s own jacket had been pulled off without Yondu realizing it. The boy’s neck was blue, as was the sliver of Peter’s shoulders and chest that could be seen outside of his thin shirt.  

 

                  “What the hell are you doing?!” Yondu shouted. He grabbed for Peter, to pull him close again as well as grab the coat that had been thrown to the floor, and grappled with fitting the coat on Peter and keeping the maddened little boy still, but it was about as easy as hogtying an Orloni rat.

Peter whimpered, trying to pull away. As quickly as his spontaneous burst of frantic energy had come, it slipped away after shirking his clothes off. He was instantly sluggish and wilting as he could barely stand. “St… top-p. Ye… hurtin’ me.”

 

Yondu only jostled Peter more. “Quite fightin’ me ya little bastard!”

 

“It’s… hot!” Peter screamed back. He tried to smack Yondu in the face, but his limbs were so heavy that the attempt alone caused Peter to lose his footing.

He almost fell backward without warning then, head listing dangerously to the side as though he’d lost control of his neck and going completely and totally lax in an instant. Yondu lurched for Peter, catching him and lifting him upright before he could fall into the waning fire. He brought the boy close again and hastened to prop him back up into Yondu’s lap.  

He was so skinny. So damn skinny.

“Peter! Peter, open your eyes, boy!” Yondu righted Peter and quickly jabbed two fingers to the side of his neck. There was a pulse there, weak and tremulous, but there. The ravager could hear the boy’s breath very faintly, coming out raggedly and deeply like he was on the brink of falling asleep. “Damn it all. Open your eyes! Don’t you dare disobey me!”

                  Peter just barely managed to obey. His eyes opened gradually, breath still rattling inside his chest. His gaze flickered in Yondu’s direction, glazed over and unfocused. “Dad?”

 

“I… I-I’m scared.”

 

                  A lump formed in Yondu’s throat and threatened to choke him as Peter’s face screwed up in anguish. He stared into Peter’s frightened green gaze and the thought crossed his mind that those had been Meredith’s eyes once too.

 “I’m sorry I’m scared! I can’t help it.” For the second time in a week, the boy began bawling. His frozen hands twitched, trying to clutch desperately while ensnared in the pockets of cloth among Yondu’s leathers. Yondu was again reminded of Peter getting ready to go to sleep, trying to hold onto Yondu tightly so he wouldn’t be alone. Yondu briefly thought that Peter was doing the same thing now, not out of habit, but out of fear that Yondu might reject him and abandon him for being emotional.

                  He couldn’t bear the thought for more than a moment.

 

                  “You go on an’ feel scared, son. I ain’t gonna give you hell for it.” Yondu shook his head.

 

“Don’t’choo worry none. Yer daddy’s gonna make it go away. You ain’t gotta be scared fer long.”

 

He lifted Peter’s head closer and cradled him. “How’s tha’ sound? Hm?”

                  Peter stared at him through tears that were already freezing over on his face. An ashy blue hue was spreading all over from Peter’s forehead to his temples, from his ears to his cheeks, and crawling down his neck. His now blue lips stretched in a faint smile, but it looked painful to keep up.

“Jus’ stay awake.” Yondu stroked a thumb over Peter’s cheeks, wiping the frost from his face. He brushed his hand over the little boy’s forehead and swept shaking hand through his mop of reddish-brown hair. Before he registered it, Yondu began to rock back and forth like he’d done when Peter was barely a year old. He hoped the simple movement would somehow help, somehow keep Peter alive and looking at him. It was ineffective; Peter didn’t appear to have the strength to talk anymore, or nod. In fact, as the man rocked them from side to side, Peter’s eyes started to close.

                  Yondu lifted his head up higher, so that they’re noses were almost touching. “Peter? You gotta stay awake, kid.”

It didn’t matter that he was being shouted at, Peter was already losing consciousness. His eyes had rolled to the back of his skull, and his head lolled to the side weightlessly without another word.

                                    Yondu swallowed back tears. “Peter? Peter!”

He pressed his forehead to Peter’s and stared holes in the child’s ashen face, trying to will Peter to look at him again.

“Peter… Come on, son, wake up.” Yondu continued move from side to side, ignoring the cold that was steadily affecting him too. “Please, wake up. You got yer old man askin’ nicely. Please, Peter, please.”

“What if I sang ya a song? Would that get you up agin?” He began to hum ‘I’m Not In Love’ from Peter’s mixtape, and then sang the first few lines he could remember. Yondu didn’t have a head for memorizing lyrics – not like Meredith, not like Peter – but he warbled to the tune in his head.

Peter still wasn’t respond.

Yondu laughed bitterly, in-between the melody and the lump in his throat which had grown and made his voice gruffer, thicker. “Yer old man’s got a broken set’a pipes, don’t he? Ya glad I ain’t sang you lullabies, Petey?”

Silence.

“When you was a baby, you cried damn near all the time. Cried yer little lungs out night ‘n day. I couldn’t do nothin’ ta get ya to stop, didn’t matter if I gave ya exactly what’chu wanted, if I changed ya or fed ya. Forget about singin’ ya back to sleep.”

                  The man stared down, looking beyond Peter’s blue face as he lost himself in moment past.

“You jus’ wanted yer mama. Every time – Meri would come in and sing to you, an’ you’d shut up just like that. Can’t blame ya for that, boy… Yer mama had the prettiest voice around.”

Yondu clenched his eyes shut tight. This had gone downhill faster than he, or anyone, might’ve anticipated, but he was more overwhelmed at his own failure to protect the boy. Meredith’s boy. Their son.  

“Don’t take him yet, Meri. Don’t take ‘im. I ain’t done right by you yet. I haven’t done near enough yet.”

He was begging. “I ain’t done right by Peter or you, so don’t take ‘im now. Not yet.”

 

                  As if in answer, a sinister, high-pitched whistling noise reverberated within their crystal palace as icy, bitter wind rushed through its undetectable cracks and crevices. It felt like the rush of a tidal wave at Yondu’s back, unrelentingly frigid and intensely nerve-wracking, prompting Yondu to curl further inward with Peter caged in his lap and arms. His head bowed, ensuring that Peter was tucked beneath his chin to keep the cold as far away from the child as he possibly could.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about hypothermia and I bet it shows. Anyway, I hope this flows okay.


	3. Chapter 3

The most surprising thing to come out of the attack – Their com system was still intact after the chaos had been put to an end. It was truly miraculous as Kraglin, whom had held his own well while gunning down nameless thugs, had felt like all his efforts had been for naught the moment he returned to where he’d hidden Peter and found nothing but dried red blood on the floor.

           The teen had been joined by Tullk and Narblik in the fallout, and after, when there was no sign of either Yondu or Peter anywhere on the ship. Kraglin had suggested looking up and down for every portable com in the vicinity when they’d had no luck reaching the captain calling him. He didn’t believe for a moment that Yondu could’ve died, or couldn’t have found and carried Peter off to safety, not when his personal com was found in the bowels of the ship near an ejected escape pod, and not when they’d connected that pod with the moon nearest the Eclector’s location.

That very moon turned out to be a barren, bleak wasteland of barite crystal when the ravager’s transport ship touched down on its gray-white surface. Everything from the snow covering the ground to the jagged, towering cliffs that rose stabbed the sky was made of crystal. Kraglin had never heard of such a thing before, but he didn’t ponder it for long when, out in the bone-cilling wilderness of the unnamed moon, Narblik caught sight of a pale red line streaking the blindingly white sky to the east.

* * *

 

“Captain!”

Tullk shook Yondu’s shoulders roughly as soon as he and Peter were found, hidden within an alcove of pure barite.

           He finally responded, head whipping up to look at Tullk with wild, bloodshot eyes. “ **Don’t Take Him!** ”

           Tullk stepped back from his captain as though he’d been physically struck, but not before he got a clear look at Peter lying in Yondu’s arms. The Terran’s skin was a startling shade of blue, and he appeared to be as lifeless as a corpse.

“ _Peter_.” Kraglin’s voice sounded strangled against the shrill wind. He lurched in place, wide-eyed and gaping in horror, scarcely able to keep himself from barreling forward

           Tullk fell back until he had rejoined the others. He turned to face them. “We’ve gotta get them on the transport fast.”

Vorker and Narblik nodded in agreement, and instantly marched away to fly the transport in closer. Kraglin was then by the shoulder and pulled away just enough for Tullk to obscure Peter from view.  

“I’m gonnae need you to get the Cap’n to ease up. This hellhole of a planet’s got him goin’ mad.” Tullk said.

                       He leaned in close, looking Kraglin in the eye. “We cannae do a thing for Pete ‘less the Cap’n let’s himself be helped. Understand, Kraglin?”  

He’d been able to keep steady throughout most of the aftermath of the raid, and had been of sound mind when they went looking for Yondu’s escape pod, but Kraglin couldn’t stop himself from shaking then and there. The teenager swallowed, forcing himself to stand straight as he nodded.

Kraglin approached the still form of his Captain with intrepid footsteps. At any other time, he might’ve scoffed at his own meek hesitation, but insecurity in his own masculinity was the furthest thing from the Xandarian’s mind.

“Cap’n. We gotta go.” Kraglin tried to address Yondu as if the man still had his wits about him. The Centaurian was unresponsive, still clutching Peter in a vice-like grip, with single-minded determination to protect his boy from the cold.  

Kraglin shifted on his feet; his shaking worsened as a particularly harsh burst of wind rattle through the cave. “Cap’n…”

           At a loss, his eyes fell on the still form of Peter Quill, not entirely obscured in spite of Yondu’s best intentions. His face was drawn and indigo and covered by a thin layer of frost, and Kraglin could plainly see the shadow of veins beneath his fragile skin. The boy was not only freezing to death, but he was suffocating as well.

Kraglin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight, nor withstand it for very long before he dropped to his knees and shoved Yondu hard enough to send the older man backwards.  

“Peter could die if we don’t get movin’, Cap’n!” Kraglin cried.

The wind outside howled, and even in a state of mixed grief and delirium, Kraglin instinctively braced himself as though waiting to be threatened with Yondu’s arrow. It wouldn’t have been a surprise as, had the leader of the ravagers been in his right state of mind, he surely would’ve aimed his yaka arrow directly at the scraggier, younger man. You didn’t strike out at the captain and live to tell of it.

           But Yondu wasn’t in his right state of mind. When he finally regained his balance to look up, it seemed to Kraglin as if the Centaurian were still only half-conscious. He was slow, perhaps having been quite a bit damaged himself from the damning temperatures of the moon, but Yondu surprised his most loyal crewmate by hoisting Peter and himself from the snow-ridden ground. He began to march toward the cave’s opening without a word, but halted after only a few steps.

“Get my coat, Kraglin.”

Kraglin, overwhelmed with relief, didn’t hesitate to grab for Yondu’s jacket (he had no time to wonder why it had fallen so far away from where Yondu and Peter had been sitting) and run to his captain. He began to wrap it around Peter, having anticipated why Yondu had wanted the layer in the first place.

They left the cave with Peter sandwiched between them, with Kraglin guiding an unsteady Yondu over the packed snow and toward the oncoming transport. He kept them steady over icy patches until they’d jogged toward the ramp and were safely inside.

It might have been a funny sight for an onlooker. But no one there was laughing.

* * *

 

When they had docked into the Eclector’s hangar, it was Kraglin who led their rescue party to their medic Joza. The raid had led to many causalities, including the offing of two out of three semi-licensed doctors that had been in their clan, and the Cirrlew had been running ragged as the sole survivor. The breach had left all manner of injuries, and a great of whining from what were supposed to be ruthless and vicious ravagers.

Therefore, the collective effort to get Peter into a safe environment continued into the infirmary. Kraglin had helped Joza sterilize a makeshift hospital bed when the official beds were covered in blood and had been smashed to pieces, and to help lay Peter down carefully – having to pry the kid from Yondu’s grasp before they could. It was a challenge for Kraglin to not choke up over how weightless and still their youngest teammate had become.

Soon after, the teen scrambled to find blankets, rags, sheets and willingly forfeited pieces of clothing including some questionably clean socks to warm Peter up. Kraglin’s own favorite poncho had gone into the mix and had been fitted over Peter’s bare body after he’d been stripped of his drenched clothes. The poncho looked like an off-color hospital gown that served to only dwarf Peter further.

                       He’d wanted to do more, but Kraglin had been turned away so that Joza could work more efficiently – on not only Peter, but Yondu as well. The captain had been silent the entire time since he and his son were returned to the Eclector, staring about without seeing while he was hustled onto a lesser clean table to be examined afterward.

Still, the Xandarian felt inclined to stay close in case he was needed. He found himself waiting, scarcely aware of the days passing him by, or of Narblik pressing him to start working again and help with ship repairs. When forced to leave the hall outside their medbay for a day’s worth of work, Kraglin would return in the night without fail.

The image of Peter Quill, lying frozen and half-dead, never left his mind.

* * *

Peter was declared stable after three days. Yet, the fronds that formed Joza’s crest had wilted with the severity of the situation. His natural bodily tendencies made for a distressed tell so obvious that he was lucky he’d been picked up for his skills in medicine and writing somewhat legal prescriptions instead of grifting or gambling.

“Captain Udonta’s son is comatose.” He sighed. It was Tullk that the doctor addressed, being the senior ravager to Kraglin’s junior status.

“What if we smuggled him to a proper hospital.” Kraglin spoke out of turn. He’d been getting bolder with every passing day. “Would he have a better chance a’ wakin’?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kraglin saw Yondu sitting at Peter’s bedside. The Terran was still as he’d ever been, with an oxygen mask latched onto his ashen face that was neither blue nor its normal pinkish tone. Their captain had his head in his hands, and was hunched over the body of his son as he had been since the last time they’d been allowed in the infirmary. That had been two days ago.

“It wouldn’t change a thing.” Joza huffed. “There’s no telling when, or even if, the child will wake.”

_

           Days turned into weeks before Kraglin could merely visit the medbay. When the Eclector had been recalibrated for continued travel, he and the rest of the crew were ordered by Vorker to set a new course for the Iileneeum System, which was around 36 jumps from where they’d been. It wasn’t far so far away from where’d they’d been, but it took more energy and time than it normally would’ve when they were running smoothly. Nevetheless, while a hassle, 36 jumps just wasn’t far enough away from that desolate moon of barite in Kraglin’s opinion, but he doubted anything short of blowing up that hunk of orbiting crystal would put his mind at ease then.

* * *

 

“The crew’s been gettin’ antsy, Captain.”

Kraglin had meant to see if Yondu needed something before turning in, when he heard Horuz speaking within the medbay. The sound of the scruff’s voice gave Kraglin pause, as it was no secret that if Peter were in trouble, Horuz would be the last one to give a shit. “Our supply of units is dwindlin’ as well. Along with everything else…”

He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like Horuz was having a total one-sided conversation, as his words were met with sheer silence. Either that, or he was talking to a wall. It was only fair given how unlikable the other, tubbier Xandarian was.

A little part of Kraglin’s mind knew that Horuz was right, though.

“Are you even listenin’ to me?” Horuz harassed. There was no telling how long he’d been there trying to talk sense into their captain. “If you don’t start leadin’ like you’re supposed to do, we could have a mutiny on our hands!”  

“So what?”

Kraglin pressed his ear to the titanium wall, hunkering down in hopes of confirming what he’d just heard. The captain hadn’t spoken in ages; he sounded raspy and out-of-practice as proof.  

“ _So what?_ ” Horuz repeated, disbelievingly. “ _So what!_ What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re willin’ to risk a fuckin’ mutiny? _For this brat?!_ ”  

           Although he wasn’t even close to the scuffle, Kraglin recoiled at the sudden sound of crashing equipment and cracking bone. He could barely hear Joza shouting farther off in the distance before the dreaded, high-pitched notes of a whistle sent Yondu’s arrow slicing through the air.

Kraglin didn’t have time to pretend that he hadn’t been eavesdropping before Horuz was shouldering past him, both hands cupping a bloody and broken nose.

* * *

It was becoming difficult to ignore the crew getting stir-crazy, even for Kraglin. He couldn’t help tallying how many times Tullk or Vorker or Narblik, or even Horuz, were asked where Yondu had gone to and/or if he were still in the sickbay. A few new recruits had been inducted to replace the old. The dead that were sorted apart from unrecognizable criminals, whom were chucked out of the airlock, had been cremated shortly after the Eclector had been fully restored. Yet, they hadn’t had proper jobs in nearly a month since making it to Iileenium, and had been loitering around restlessly in the meanwhile.  

           The Xandarian teen was beginning to feel that old itch himself, that need to get out and rattle some unsuspecting folks by aiming a rifle at their heads, when the whispers over the Captain not doing his duty were put to an end. Yondu, whom Kraglin swore had a sixth sense about these things, appeared out of the blue not long after Kraglin had visited the infirmary last, after Horuz had come stumbling out with his nose broken in three places.

The Centaurian looked like he’d been through the seventh circle of hell, but the moment he’d left the medbay, he’d been out for blood.

And if anything, the atmosphere on the Eclector became ten-times as repressive as it’d been before Yondu’s authority was put into question. Picking up the workload was no problem in the face of the Captain’s return, but his iron fist and new, less-than-forgiving disposition made finding more recruits a challenge, what with the rise in arrow-through-the-eye related deaths after.

* * *

 

“Cap’n!” Kraglin cried. He was out of breath from running as fast he possibly could from the medbay to the bridge, where he almost smacked right into Yondu as he was instructing Vorker to navigate them toward Xandar.

“What the hell’s wrong wit’ you?” Yondu shouted, incensed. It was a far cry from when Kraglin had purposefully shoved Yondu back not that long ago, when the Centaurian was practically catatonic. “You blind, boy?!”

                       Kraglin shook his head, feeling that hot, syrupy-sick feeling one got when they’d forced themselves to exercise far past what they were in shape to do. He tried to swallow back the queasiness that had resulted from him sprinting. “Peter –! It’s Peter, Cap’n!”

The fury on Yondu’s face vanished completely. He stared at down at Kraglin (whom had now leaned over to stop himself from throwing up) with wide, red eyes before sweeping out of the bridge and heading for the infirmary. By sheer coincidence, those that had once formed Peter’s rescue party were on the bridge and followed suit, Tullk dragging a wheezing Kraglin with them.

* * *

Peter’s eyes were open for the first time in a month, but it felt like he’d just woken up from a nap. Although the world around him was still a little blurry, he could clearly see a figure above him – a figure with familiar blue skin.

“Hi Dad.” Peter whispered. His own voice was so weak, making the little boy wonder if Yondu had heard him.

He tried to reach out for the Centaurian instead, but Peter realized then that he could barely move his arms and legs. His entire body felt heavy, like he was pinned down by imaginary weights, and Peter could feel his muscles aching just by him lying still.

Everything and everyone in the room stayed frozen in place, until Peter felt his father’s calloused hands on either side of his head. Peter was confused for a moment, before Yondu’s ruby eyes came into focus to thoroughly daze the child. He hadn’t seen his father cry before, but Yondu looked close to doing so then, if the shine pooling in his eyes wasn’t a trick of the light.

“Son.”

Peter was suddenly scared over the fact that he had no idea what was going on and why his dad was so distraught. Peter could remember times when his mother had cried, and even when he’d been very little, Peter had wanted to comfort her when that happened – even if it made Peter tear up too.

“It’s okay.” Peter was almost unintelligible; his throat hurt from trying to get the words out. “Don’ be sad. I…t’s okay now. You’re gonna make _me_ cry, Dad… it’s okay…”

                       If it were possible, Yondu only looked more anguished at Peter’s attempts to comfort him. The man leaned down and rested his forehead against Peter’s, as if sensing what would calm them both down. He couldn’t hold Peter, whose body was still weak and recovering, but deeply hoped that this familiar gesture would be enough for now.

Peter closed his eyes and furrowed his brow to keep from crying. He thought he was doing a pretty good job, even if he still felt some tears trickle onto his cheeks.

The others, those that had remained in the room when Peter awoke, had retreated long before to give their Captain and his son a moment to themselves.

* * *

 

“ **What’re y’all standin’ around fer? Move yer asses!** ”  

           Days later and Captain was sending the rest of the stragglers into a run once again. The mess hall in which they’d congregated for new orders was nearly empty by the time Peter, recovering from a nasty cold while Yondu carried him around, was seized by another coughing fit.

Kraglin turned, in time to see Yondu shifting Peter in his arms and ignore the risk of contracting Peter’s sickness (and the good amount of snot and mucus that his son had gotten all over Yondu’s shoulder) to feel the child’s forehead and check his temperature. Yondu swept Peter’s damp locks away from his flushed face once he noted that there was no change and gestured for the boy to continue resting his head in the crook of Yondu’s neck.

Yondu raised his boy higher up to keep him from sliding down to the floor, before marching out and up to the bridge, so haughtily and so much like his old self that Kraglin couldn’t help grinning.

_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And END. Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/left kudos/bookmarked!


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